


The Mystery Meat Incident 473

by randombitsofstars



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Food Poisoning, Frostbite, M/M, POV Eames, Poor Eames, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randombitsofstars/pseuds/randombitsofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur and Eames are stuck together in the-middle-of-nowhere-Pennsylvania and Eames really should watch what he puts in his mouth. ;)<br/>Excerpt:<br/>“I told you not to buy from that food cart, Mr. Eames.” Somehow Arthur managed to look smug even while wearing an oversized pink t-shirt that screamed WHAT WOULD CHUCK NORRIS DO and pyjama pants with yellow ducks smattered across them.</p><p>Eames supposed it said something that he was the more pitiful of the two at the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery Meat Incident 473

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy the story! Very brief opening because the idea kind of just popped into my head and I had to follow my muse.  
> Planning on this being a three-chapter fic.  
> Visit my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randombitsofstars) for copious A/E gifs. Feel free to drop an ask or a comment!
> 
> Happy reading! <3

“I _told_ you not to buy from that food cart, Mr. Eames.” Somehow Arthur managed to look smug even while wearing an oversized pink t-shirt that screamed WHAT WOULD CHUCK NORRIS DO and pyjama pants with yellow ducks smattered across them.

Eames supposed it said something that he was the more pitiful of the two at the moment. He wanted to reply to Arthur, but Eames' attention was diverted by another wave of nausea, forcing him to scramble forward once more. He had been slumped in front of the porcelain rim of the dirty toilet, periodically vomiting out the contents of his stomach. Eames’ hands were slippery with sweat as he clenched both sides of the cold bowl. His position gave him a wonderful view of the inside of the toilet, which reflected back things Eames fervently wished he hadn’t consumed. Things Arthur seemed to delight in reminding him of every thirty seconds.

Pausing a second more to make sure another round of spewing wasn’t imminent, Eames dragged his face up to give Arthur a withering glare. A glare that would’ve given most men pause, under different circumstances.

At the moment, though, Arthur’s face was firmly fixed in amused condescension, his slim form hovering at the door frame of the bathroom.

“Yes, Arthur, _for the twentieth bloody time_ , I realize you warned me not to buy shish-kabob from that Indian food cart,” Eames growled, feeling a trickle of sweat slide down his face. _Which is odd_ , Eames thought, because he was feeling quite chilly. “And I told _you_ , darling, not to attempt to walk to the nearest store to find anti-nausea medication,” Eames continued, looking at Arthur’s pitiful conglomerate of clothing. “And yet, you did, and here we are, in the middle of _bloody nowhere_ , in the dead of winter. And you almost incurred frostbite.” Eames would have gone on - it seemed belittling Arthur cheered him up a bit. But his stomach took the pause as a cue to rebel, and the delightfully spicy curry Eames had ingested twenty-four hours ago decided to make a reappearance. It scorched a path back up his throat, burning delicate tissues as his eyes watered and throat spasmed. The torrent splashed in a gush, mostly into the depths of the poor bowl in front of him. Eames let out a pitiful groan, past caring if Arthur thought less of him because of it.

Arthur had disappeared out of the doorway, but reappeared just as Eames let out the noise. Once Eames was done gagging, a pale hand snaked in front of him, banishing his most recent regurgitation in a swirl down the pipes.

Eames rocked back, his torso hitting the wall behind him. His knees ached through his tightly pressed slacks. He had been kneeling in front of the toilet for a long time. His pale paisley shirt was unbuttoned one more button than was normal, the collar as far away from Eames’ neck as he could manage. As he sat there, gasping, feeling more than a little sorry for himself, Arthur’s pale forearm reappeared across his vision once more, this time to hand him a sad-looking paper cup. Eames looked at Arthur's arm, his vision focusing on a faint cluster of freckles near his wrist. Finally, his eyes trailed down to see the offering, and Eames took the cup with gratitude. He lifted the thin paper to his lips, taking cautious sips from the little cup. Eames stayed quiet, not yet confident in himself to speak without projectile-vomiting.

Arthur slid down next to him on the tiled floor, legs crossing gracefully at the ankles as he rested his shivering back against the wall. Eames snorted at the motion, once more taking in the the blue and yellow monstrosity that covered Arthur’s legs. “ _Where_ did you find those?” Eames sputtered hoarsely, poking one of the yellow ducklings that paraded across Arthur’s thigh.

Arthur’s fine features turned into a grimace, hugging a thick afghan previously unnoticed by Eames tighter around his shoulders. His lips parted to reply, but the fringed edges of the blanket tickled Eames’ throat, and he lurched forward once more, scrambling for the white commode.

“I really should find you a trashcan,” Arthur muttered behind Eames. The sink sputtered to life as Arthur levered himself off his spot on the cold tile, filling the half-squashed cup once more. He placed it down gently by Eames’ white-knuckled grip, quickly moving away as to not be the recipient of the flecks of Eames’ flying throw up. “I think I saw a knock-off Gatorade bottle in the back of the pantry,” Arthur called hurriedly, vanishing out of Eames’ peripheral vision. “I’ll go look for it.” Eames moaned exaggeratedly in assent. As crappy as he felt, Eames had to admit Arthur hovering around him protectively was quite the novelty.

“Heat some tea up for yourself, darling!” Eames called weakly. “Don’t think I didn’t see you shivering! I’m not daft." Arthur’s grumbling could be heard from down the hallway, and Eames smiled, envisioning Arthur's sulking expression. _The git,_ Eames thought fondly. _What was he thinking, going out in this weather? Bad enough we had to fly back to the States from India, and then rush to drive all the way here. Arthur and his stupid protocol. He already broke one rule, travelling with me, and now venturing outside..._

Eames sagged against the wallpaper once more as his nausea abated. He let his eyes flutter shut as he waited for Arthur’s return. Absentmindedly, Eames wiped some sweat off his brow, his hand sliding down to the floor with a heavy thump. His whole body ached, and Eames cursed the damn Indian food, the job, and the whole day’s events, really. _Everything started to go to shite on Saturday,_ Eames thought, remembering. His mind travelled back, rewinding the events leading up to this pathetic point.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think so far - kudos, comments, criticisms, etc.! It was fun to write from Eames' POV.
> 
> For people who might not know, I'm also the same author currently working on "I'd Rather Take a Bullet for You" which is a pretty expansive fic that I should be working on instead of this... oh well, I can claim this put me in a better head space. So instead of an update that this lovely Sunday, you get this instead!
> 
> Just a reminder that my Tumblr is the same as my username - it would be lovely if you stopped by. :)


End file.
